


All This, and Love Too

by Strangestar



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Amsterdam, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Richard Siken, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 09:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strangestar/pseuds/Strangestar
Summary: It's been two weeks since everything happened and Theo can't bring himself to leave Boris or Amsterdam.Poem is "Scheherazade" by Richard Siken.





	All This, and Love Too

**Author's Note:**

> I was very inspired to write this after watching The Goldfinch. Of course, I do not any of the content or characters.

_Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again._

It’s been two weeks since everything happened.

Two weeks since Theo and Boris got the Goldfinch back, then had it taken away again, then found it turned up by the police. Two weeks since Boris was shot in the shoulder. Two weeks since Theo swallowed all those pills and lay in his bed for what he thought was the last time. It’s been two weeks since everything happened and Theo can’t bring himself to leave Amsterdam.

He has a life in New York-- he has a job he loves, has the Barbours, hell, even technically still has a fiance, but he still can’t bring himself to leave Amsterdam. Because leaving Amsterdam would mean leaving Boris again. The last time he left Boris it was because he absolutely had to. Because there was no other option for him, just an orphaned teenager in the middle of nowhere with too much trauma for any child to have, really.

They’re sitting at the breakfast table and Boris is devouring a plate of eggs and potatoes while Theo sips on a cup of tea. Recently, coffee has made him too jittery and he hasn’t eaten much since he tried to kill himself.

“You should eat,” Boris states in between bites. Theo chuckles, reaching over to his plate and popping a small piece of potato into his mouth.

“Not too hungry right now, but thanks anyway. I’ll eat later.” Boris nods silently, almost avoiding eye contact. Theo doesn’t want to say anything about it, and decides not to.

_How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running until they forget they are horses._

The first time Boris and Theo slept together, as in literally sleeping together, was that first Thanksgiving together, both high and drunk and too out of their minds to really care all too much.

While Theo doesn’t remember showing Boris the Goldfinch the first time, he does remember all those times Boris would hold him when he woke up from a nightmare, running his hands over his hands and saying _Ssh Potter, is only me._

It still happens sometimes. While their hotel in Amsterdam technically has two separate rooms with two separate beds, they still find their way into each others beds every night. Sometimes Boris comes home late from work and crawls into bed with Theo, sometimes Theo finds Boris after he’s had a nightmare or when his thoughts are too loud for him to fall asleep.

They wake up together regardless.

_ It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere, it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio,_

Boris talks about himself in a way that’s so reductive. Always_ Don’t mind me_, or _is only me_.

They’re sleeping next to each other in Boris’ bed when Theo has another nightmare where he wakes up gasping for breath, almost hyperventilating and sitting up straight. Boris is right there next to him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. He rubs small circles on Theo’s back with his right hand and grasps his waist with the other all while making _ssh_ noises, the same way he did when they were thirteen.

“You’re okay, Potter,” Boris murmurs as they lay back down, face to face this time, their arms still loosely wrapped around one another. “Is only me. You’re safe now.”

Boris pulls Theo into his chest.

_It’s not just you,_ Theo thinks to himself. _You’re everything to me._

_how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days were bright red, and everytime we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces_

Theo still clearly remembers the first time they slept together-- as in fucking, not just sleeping in the same bed.

It was one of those aimless afternoons where Theo and Boris got high on the weed and pills Boris found in his father’s cabinet, when Boris just reached over and kissed him. And Theo was breathless.

And he was still breathless when Boris kissed him. Boris doesn’t fumble in the way that he used to.

_Of course he doesn’t, he a fucking grown man_, Theo thinks to himself as Boris leaves kisses on his collar bones and lower on his ribcage.

But it doesn’t matter how old Theo gets-- he will always be breathless with Boris.

_Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon, that means we’re inconsolable._

“I have to go back to New York soon,” Boris says one afternoon. It has officially been three weeks that he and Theo have been staying in Amsterdam. Three long, surprisingly happy weeks of sleeping in the same beds and having sex and smoking the weed Boris gets from the place down the street and reading newspaper and just waiting for the sun to go down.

“Yeah?” Theo asks, his right eyebrow cocked upward from behind his glasses. “Dimitri called me with a job that I have to do,” he explains, taking a puff from the cigar the restaurant supplied them with.

“You can stay here, if you want. I..., Potter. I just have to go back.”

“I understand,” Theo nods. “I should probably go back, too. Explain everything to Hobie and all.”

“So I’ll book two tickets, then,” Boris murmurs, more to himself than to Theo. The light shining in through the window illuminates Boris in a way that doesn’t happen often. Boris is beyond pale and his hair is usually too dull and dark to shine, but Theo could swear he was glowing.

“What is it, Potter?” Boris asks, a smile threatening to run rampant across his face.

“Nothing, Boris,” Theo chuckles. “Nothing at all.”

_Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we’ll never get used to it._

The flight back to New York is ordinary. There’s no excessive turbulance or extra waiting times. They land at Laguardia and decide to take separate cabs home-- Boris has to go straight to work while Theo wants to rest his head, exhausted from the jetlag.

Theo doesn’t know when he’ll hear from Boris again. Hell, he realizes that he never even gave the man his phone number or anything-- Boris apparently has a special ability to just randomly show up in Theo’s life and take control, if only for a little while.

So Theo goes back to work with Hobie. He breaks off the engagement with Kitsey. He searches for drug addiction support groups but doesn’t actually contact any of them. That’s for a later time. Maybe. He has nightmares and spends most of his spare time thinking about Boris without actually doing anything about it.

He’s working on restoring an antique set of drawers by himself one afternoon when he hears the bell ring.

“Welcome, can I help you find anything?” he calls from his position behind the desk.

“Yes, I’ve heard that you stolen a good friend of mine and hid him here, I was wondering if you know where he went?” Boris smirks back in his broken English.

A smile cracks across Theo’s face as he looks up and finds him there. Boris. His best friend. And maybe something more, if he wants it bad enough.

“Hi!” he says excitedly. “I, uh, hi. How are you?”

“I’m hungry for dinner,” Boris states clearly, placing his hands on the front counter Theo stands behind, leaning in closer towards Theo’s face and smirking. “There’s this place on Avenue A I wanted to go to. Will you come with me?” The time is 5:00. Theo has absolutely no reason to stay past closing time.

“Absolutely, Boris,” he smiles back.

And it feels like light.

And it feels like starting over.


End file.
